


someone to die for

by bleedinqhearts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (btw that last tag was towards the not so subtle iwaoi this fic contains), (historians will say they were very close friends), Action, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, CHOSEN FAMILY CHOSEN FAMILY CHOSEN FAMILY, Character Development, F/M, are they bros in love platonically or bros in love romantically (the interpretation is up to you), backstabbing and sabotage but it's personal AND political, do u trust a write with tags like this???, every1 starts off selfish but every1 would die for some1 else in the fic ok just trust me, everyone is bad with feelings and also just so happen to be filled with them, found family foUND FAMILY FOUND FAMILY, i think these tags rlly showcase what a shitshow this fic is gonna be, listen updates r gonna be kinda slow but will it be worth it? girl idk either!, sexual tension but a lot of regular tension too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27380242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedinqhearts/pseuds/bleedinqhearts
Summary: special circumstances lead to mercenary-for-hire tobio kageyama to be entrusted as the prime minister’s daughter’s, [Y/N] [L/N]’s, personal bodyguard. his mission: protect you at all costs. and tobio kageyama will see it through to the very end.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Reader
Kudos: 9





	1. someone to die for

**E X T E N D E D S Y N O P S I S**

> **WHAT IS CALLED A REASON FOR LIVING IS ALSO AN EXCELLENT REASON FOR DYING.**

TOBIO KAGEYAMA should be a dead man by now.

After all, the life of a mercenary is a relatively short one. A life driven purely by greed is a life destined to crash and burn.

Tobio Kageyama should be a dead man by now.

After all, mercenaries are infamous for their lack of loyalty. The highest bidder is the one who does the bidding. Tobio’s job is simple: complete the task given to him, no matter the cost. He’s notorious for risking the safety and lives of the men unfortunate enough to be working alongside him; he’s notorious for never showing an ounce of remorse or regret whenever he’s the only one left alive to carry out the mission. (Truth be told, Tobio’s never been a team player.)

Tobio Kageyama should be a dead man by now.

After all, he’s pissed off more people than he’s ever pleased. Friends and families of the mercenaries who worked with him (and ultimately _died_ because of him) are out for his blood as a means to get revenge. Friends and families of the targets he’s assassinated are taking out their own hits for him. _Friends and families_ — a long forgotten concept that he’s in no particular hurry to remember.

Tobio Kageyama should be a dead man by now.

After all, on his last mission, the team of mercs hired to work with him turned against him, leaving him to die a lonely death.

But even though Tobio Kageyama _should_ be dead, he’s _not_. He is, after all, notorious for getting the job done on time, and something as fickle as being abandoned and left to die isn’t going to stop him from getting his paycheck.

Tobio Kageyama should be a dead man by now.

After all, he’s a man on the run. No one to turn to, nowhere to hide, nothing to his name but the several offshore accounts of his that are funded purely by blood money. Eventually, the pack of wolves nipping at his heels will catch up, will get close enough to sink their canines into his flesh, and finally — _finally_ — he’ll meet his end.

Tobio Kageyama isn’t going to die anytime soon, though.

After all, he saved the prime minister’s daughter, [Y/N] [L/N]’s, life. 

* * *

**S O U N D T R A C K**

**01\. i follow rivers — lykke li  
02\. dusk til dawn — zayn ft. sia   
03\. i know you care — ellie goulding   
04\. breathe me — sia  
05\. i'll take the blame — verite   
06\. pink in the night — mitski   
07\. you have been loved — sia  
08\. minor — gracie abrams   
09\. who are you, really? — mikky ekko  
10\. tonight — lykke li  
11\. running up that hill — placebo**


	2. > prologue — dead man walking

A wolf can never be a pet.

And Tobio Kageyama is as close to a wolf as anyone can get — all keen senses, sinewy muscles, and pure killer instinct. The only difference, besides the lack of fur and a tail, is his innate distaste for _teamwork_. Even the word rolls off his tongue awkwardly, leaving behind a funny aftertaste and a mental note for him to never say it again. But, even then, his lack of comradery doesn’t do much to mar the comparison; wolves may be pack animals at heart, but lone wolves exist, too, and this is the role that Kageyama’s chosen to mold himself to fit into. 

But a job is a job, and this one requires a team. Infiltrating a fifteen-story tall building alone isn’t impossible, but Kageyama’s kind of on a tight schedule right now. He’s got to assassinate some wife of a random cabinet member in order to teach the family a lesson — _or something like that_. He doesn’t actually care too much to listen to the backstory on why someone is taking a hit out on someone else. It’s none of his business, really. 

(The less Kageyama knows about his targets, the better; it makes the trigger easier to pull.)

The wife is waiting for who she _thinks_ is her husband at the fifteenth floor where his personal office is located. Kageyama assumes the view from there must be nice.

Here’s a secret that nobody knows: mercenary work leads Tobio to beautiful places more often than not. He’s been to Russia during Christmas, watched the sun rise over Morocco, spent a night under the stars in Paris; it’s too bad, really, that all this nice scenery goes to waste. After all, a backdrop to murder is a backdrop to murder, no matter how _pretty_ it is. He can’t remember the pleasant surprise of experiencing the first snowfall of the season in Russia; he can’t (he doesn’t really think he’s _allowed_ to) appreciate seeing the sun rise, signaling a new day; he can’t even look up at the sky during the night because even though he’s constantly moving forward, in this line of work, he’ll always have to watch his back. 

(But it’s not just a simple _can’t_ — it’s the fact that he can’t afford to.)

So, even if the view from so high up does turn out to be as nice as he imagines it will be, it doesn’t really matter, does it? At the end of tonight, it won’t be known for its nice view; it’ll be known as the place where a cabinet member’s wife was murdered — just another crime scene. 

(And it goes without saying that crime scenes aren’t supposed to be described as anything but _ugly_.) 

She seems like a pretty woman. Soft features, pearl jewelry, a dress that looks like something from a magazine catalog owned by a housewife in the 1950s. She’s standing by the window, looking down at the nightlife fifteen stories below. Her phone is laying on her husband’s desk, the nameplate sitting atop the desk turned at an angle where Kageyama can’t read it. 

He thinks that she hasn’t noticed his entrance; most of his targets hardly ever notice him until it’s too late, but she’s different. She doesn’t bother turning around — she just continues to stare out the window as if the most interesting thing in the world is unfurling right before her very eyes. 

“Should I beg for mercy now or wait for you to pull out your gun first?” Her voice doesn’t match her appearance; where she seems nearly benign upon first glance, the bite of her words is anything but kind and soft. 

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t beg at all.” Kageyama says, dark eyes focused on the woman in front of him. 

She smiles at this. “That’s fine by me. I’ve never had to beg anyone for anything.” She turns around, leaning against the window of the office, drinking in the image of Kageyama. He’s dressed in all black, from his work shoes to his cargo pants to the mask obscuring half of his face to the bulky bulletproof vest and the v-neck he’s wearing underneath it. It’s good for her that the lights are on; otherwise, Kageyama would have been nothing more than a trick of her eyes in a dark room. “I don’t take it that you’re a beggar, either.” 

Kageyama hates this part the most — the stalling. Everyone’s got this incessant need to drag out their life for even a few more spare seconds, as if in their desperation to live they’ll manage to find the right words to say that’ll get him to stop. He’s heard it all: _they could wire him double the amount he’s getting paid right now_ , or _he can’t kill them because they have a family_ , or _does he seriously think that he can just get away with this_? Truth be told, Kageyama doesn’t care what any of these people have to say. The more they talk, the more he wants to pull the trigger to get this over with. 

It’s how he feels right now.

Pale, calloused fingers curl over the handle of the gun resting in a holster on his hip. The woman spots the movement, but save for the glint of fear in her eyes, nothing else betrays the terrified turmoil within her. She brings a shaking hand to her heart, bunching up the expensive fabric of her dress as she grips a handful of it, her palm pressing into the broach that’s not just a fancy jewel but a means of communication. A silent signal alerts her men — her private security and the mercenaries that have come to her family hours prior, informing them of what was about to go down — that she’s in trouble.

“My heart’s beating really fast.” She tells him to stall for time, but she’s not surprised to find out that she isn’t even lying. “You’re going to kill me.” It’s not a question, but Kageyama confirms it as if it were by nodding gravely before he unceremoniously pulls out his gun, clicks back the safety, and fires a shot aimed right in between her eyes. It takes him less than five seconds for this to go down, and five seconds more for him to confirm that his job here is done. 

The metallic smell of blood seeps through his nostrils as it begins to form a puddle on the hardwood floor. Housekeeping’s going to have a blast with this mess, he thinks to himself, as he steps away from her unmoving body before the puddle can grow larger and reach the bottom of his shoes. 

He turns to head for the door only to have it swing open for him, revealing a crowd of men standing there to greet him. He recognizes a few of them: the man with the turnip shaped hair who treats Kageyama as if he’s killed his grandmother (which, with as many jobs as he’s done, it’s not an entirely implausible thing); there’s one standing off to the side, as if he’d rather be anywhere but here — Kageyama doesn’t care much for anyone he works with, but this is the second time he’s worked with Kunimi, making him a bit easier to remember; but there are also others Kageyama can’t recognize. Others who are dressed in suits rather than the near-militant gear most mercs dress themselves with. 

He’s smart when it comes to situations on the field, and already, Kageyama is processing the scene before him, but he gets a confirmation on his theory whenever the turnip shaped hair boy speaks. 

“You’re dead, Kageyama.” 

In this line of work, confrontation is something saved right before the kill, and if they’re all confronting him like this, Kageyama knows that if he doesn’t do something — and _fast_ — then whatever this vegetable head freak is saying is going to be true. And just because Kageyama doesn’t have any particular reasons for not wanting to die, that doesn’t mean that he _wants_ to die. 

There are at least a dozen men standing by the door, three of them making their way inside the office. Without a doubt, there will be others patrolling the other floors. Like a rabbit caught in a snare, Kageyama has no means of getting out of this one. 

_Think_. 

A gun goes off — it’s his, but with so many men, some slight confusion takes place. While everyone takes a few seconds to settle down and assess the situation, Kageyama fires again and again and again, his bullets breaking through the glass of the window. He’s already so close to it, and he only allows himself a second to look down before choosing a spot to aim for, and then he’s flying down amidst the shouts and the sounds of guns firing. 

For a second, he’s weightless, and then he’s landing on several large black bags full of trash. The trash softens the fall, turning it from a fatal one to just a near-fatal fall. His back burns and his bones ache, but the adrenaline coursing through his system right now gives him the energy to power through and sit up. His whole entire body feels like it’s on fire, but unless he wants those men hot on his trail, he’s got to leave, and he’s got to leave _right now_.

_You’re dead, Kageyama._

He’s been on the receiving end of similar threats before, but this one was spoken as if it were some fact of life. Obviously it’s not true, otherwise he wouldn’t be currently limping down dark alleyways, trying to create an impossible trail to follow all while searching for a car to hotwire to get the hell out of this city. He usually doesn’t focus too heavily on baseless threats, so he focuses on everything else: he knows that this line of work isn’t the type where you and your coworkers build a bond beyond drinking buddies, but he hadn’t expected them to _turn_. Then again, he can’t blame them. Just because someone says they’re on your side doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true. It’s his fault for not keeping a closer eye on everyone. 

But they had all been hired by the same person, been promised the same amount of money to get this job done — turning against him and the payer hadn’t been a spur of the moment decision, then. It must have been a planned trap from the get go, he concludes. 

But trap or not, Kageyama doesn’t care. He completed his job, and he’s going to get paid, maybe with an even bigger cut than agreed upon considering the fact that the payer doesn’t have to shell out anything to the other mercs; not after that betrayal. There’s a shiny car parked on the side of the street that Kageyama breaks into with ease. 

It’s nice: leather seats, strong air conditioning, and a pine tree air freshener. 

_You’re dead, Kageyama._

He smirks as he steps down on the gas pedal hard, making the car’s engine purr, the rubber of the tires burning against the asphalt as he speeds down this near empty street. 

If he’s dead then why does he feel so alive?


End file.
